


More Than Statistics

by academmia



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Soulmate AU, and they were roomates, warning will be in the notes, with a twist: none of them have soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25922359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/academmia/pseuds/academmia
Summary: Everyone has a soulmate, and a soulmark to prove it. Walk around New York City for a few minutes and you'll see the unique soulmarks people show with pride.But there are some people, with two X's on their wrists, that match with no one. Widely known as the soulless, they are forced into the shadows if they want to succeed.Finding and Keeping apartments is hard. So when 4 soulless: Logan, Patton, Virgil, and Roman move into the same apartment they're going to have to start dealing with all the things they don't want to.The Found Family Soulmates AU with a twist!
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil & Creativity | Roman & Logic | Logan & Morality | Patton
Comments: 29
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1: And they will be roomates

“Excuse me, sir, could you tell me where the books on soulmates are?” A girl asked him. She had frog earrings and a nervous smile. 

“Yeah, they’re right over there,” Roman said, pointing to the center of the bookshop. Right in the middle of it was the display on soulmates, with the centerpiece being the latest novel on why soulmates were the most beautiful part of the human experience. 

Roman resisted the urge to roll his eyes every time he looked at it. He thought donuts were the best part of the human experience, but that was an unpopular opinion. 

He fiddled with the bracelets on his wrists and decided to take another lap around the store collecting books customers had just left around in the wrong sections of the store. He didn’t see why someone would shove a romance novel in the military history section, but he was too tired to judge. He just wanted to get home to the next Percy Jackson novel and a bottle of rootbeer. 

He plugged his earbuds in and started sorting pens into the right containers. Roman couldn’t focus on anything without music. Company policy said he couldn’t wear them, but his manager Janus always seemed to turn a blind eye. Janus didn’t care about anything, but that was more than okay with Roman. He didn’t like managers who asked too many questions. Roman was running out of things to say when people asked about his soulmate.

Maybe he’d just start naming Disney Princes and wait for them to figure it out. 

The pity had gotten old when he reached third grade, but no one seemed to care. One of the many reasons Roman was a steadfast believer in books are better than people. Books let him be the nosy one for the first time. 

“Attention customers,” Janus shouted, “We will be closing in 15 minutes, so please make your way to check out unless you want to hear me sing 80’s pop songs,” 

Roman rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure Janus could get anything since his dad owned the store. Roman had seen his dad around a few times, and he didn’t give a shit about books. He was strict and looked for a little too long. 

Janus on the other hand, Roman liked Janus. He would never admit it, but he loved that Janus picked up Roman coffee and liked talking about true crime. Janus liked books, and Roman liked people who like books. Janus was probably the closest person Roman had to a friend. 

After all the customers had checked out of the store, Janus tossed Roman a Kit Kat, “I’ll go right, you go left,” 

Roman nodded and went to the left side of the store, picking up trash, straightening books, making sure the displays were set for the next morning as Janus took the other side of the store. Roman couldn’t stop yawning as he got to the back. 

“Night Ro,” Janus called. 

“See you tomorrow Reptillian Rapscallion,” Roman said, exiting the bookstore. 

He slides away from the store and falls right in step with the rest of the city. The lights blare and music is coming from the homeless man on the curb with the guitar. His music is warm and loud and the cold air he puffs out is irrelevant. Roman adores the city more than anything. It’s the best place he’s ever been, even when it’s a total shithole. There was something about the freedom and the lights and the anonymity of it all that Roman could never stay away from. 

He quickly bounces down the stairs into the subway. He swipes his metro pass, pretending he got it to work on the first try and leans against the tiled wall as he waits for the train to come.

Five minutes later, the familiar, “Please watch the gap and stand clear of the closing door,” blares of the intercom and Roman shoves himself onto the car with the rest of the city’s tired workforce. The cries of kids and groans of workers are drowned out by Taylor’s latest album. Roman keeps his eyes on the window and silently counts the stops until he reaches his stop. 

He politely pushes himself to the doors and makes his way back up the stairs, then he walks three blocks and one avenue over to his apartment building. He jams the key into the lock and pushes it. 

He’s been living here for three years but he will always groan at the five floors of stairs he has to walk up every night. 

He starks the trek up, and with every flight, he snaps and even more colorful words. By the time he gets to the top, the only thought in his mind is collapsing on his couch. 

The big flyer pinned to his door reading “evection notice, final warning!” stop in his tracks. 

“What the fuck?” Roman says loudly. 

Since when was he getting evicted? Is this why he was supposed to read his mail? He twisted the key in and let the door slam behind him. He drops his backpack on to the ground and makes a beeline for his giant mail pile and dug through it. 

There it was, the eviction letter delivered almost two weeks ago. Roman skimmed it as fast as he could, he couldn’t see any reason why he would be evicted. He paid rent on time, he wasn’t loud, he had lived here for three years with no issues. Then he got to the bottom. It said he’d been kicked out because he wasn’t a “good fit,” 

Ah.

Shit. 

It was those stupid Xs on his wrists again wasn’t it? Every single time. He thought they were done ruining his life, but suddenly he was 14 again. 

He flopped down onto the couch and powered up his laptop. Craigslist better have something good, and it better be fast

\-------------

“What can I get for you?” Patton said, trying to keep the weariness out of his voice. 

“Could I get a vanilla frappuccino?” The girl in front of him said dryly, not looking up from her phone. 

“Sure,” Patton said, “That’ll be 5.99” 

The girl handed him the cash after Patton rang her up, and he went over to the blenders to make her drink. Geez, he was the only one on shift and he hated making the frappuccinos. They took forever, and something about the loud blaring of the blenders made Patton’s head feel like it was exploding. 

Some of the creams splashed onto his sleeve and Patton closed his eyes for a second. He wished so badly that he could wear short sleeves to work, but that was the quickest way to get HR to fire him. Starbucks policy allowed employees to show off their soul marks if they wanted, and plenty of his coworkers took them up on their offer, but Patton didn’t. He didn’t have soul marks, he soulless scars. And the difference was so incredibly important. 

He grabbed a napkin and tried to dab at the stain, but it was too late. Just his luck. 

He turned the blender off and poured the creamy liquid into a medium-sized cup. He shook the can of whipped cream and quickly sprayed a swirl of it on top, and then gently added the cap. He stuck a straw in and slid it across the counter to the girl. She nodded in thanks and then bell above the door jingled as she made her exit. 

Patton sighed and tapped his fingers against the counter. He checked his phone. His shift ended in fifteen minutes. He grabbed a rag and started wiping down the counters. He rinsed out the blenders and organized the cups by height. Before it was time for him to go he made himself an iced vanilla cold brew and watched the birds fly by.

When the clock hit 4:30 Patton grabbed his backpack and headed out of the store. He walked down the streets, making sure to stop at every crosslight, unlike most people, and made his way to the first bus he had to take to get to the shelter. He boarded the bus, handed the driver 3.65, and sat down in the back. As the bus started to move he watched the buildings fly by and the people become tiny. 

Then he got on another bus. And then another, and then finally, when the sun had crawled below the buildings, Patton got off a bus for the last time that night. The shelter was only 5 blocks away. Five long painful blocks where anything could happen. Patton couldn’t afford to go to the hospital, or miss work. He just had to keep his head high and keep walking. Super easy right? 

Patton kept walking past the flickering streetlights, and he didn’t stop, even when the looming figures got closer. 

“Hey Peta,” One of them shouted. 

Patton kept his eyes on the road, begging every inch of himself not to show fear. Showing fear always made it worse. 

“Peta, I’m talking to you,” Another one growled, coming up on his left side

_ That’s not my name _

He felt himself hit a brick wall, hard, and the world spun around him. He vaguely realized there was a sticky liquid dripping from the back of his right shoulder. 

“Should we be scared Peta?” one whispered in his ear, “is your soulmate going to come and save you?”

His head hurt. He just wanted to leave. 

“Oh wait, that’s right,” He said, “you don’t have a soulmate, do you?” He didn’t wait for a response before his friends started laughing. Patton’s chest felt like it was on fire. 

The laughter got louder and louder and hands pushed and punched him like he was a doll a child got sick of. Patton was so tired.

Once he overheard a girl in the mall ask her father why someone would hate soulmates.

Right now, bleeding out in an alleyway, Patton can think of a few reasons. 

He lets himself sit there until the streetlight across from him flickers five times, and then he makes himself get up, and walk the final block to the shelter.

He reaches the old building and stares at the door. He doesn’t know if he even has the strength to open it. Somehow he does though, he forces himself to pull the door open, even if his arms feel like spaghetti. He does it anyway, because if he doesn’t, who will. 

He slowly pulls the door open and steps into the shelter. Sounds immediately fills his ears. A few men are playing cards in the corner. Volunteers are handing out food, and a few people are resting. Just a typical day. When Patton walks in, no one stops what they’re doing, people coming in with injuries is just a regular Tuesday for workers here. 

Patton walks over to the dorms and puts his bag onto his bed, then he grabs his shower stuff, and heads to the showers. 

He finds an empty stall and lets the lukewarm water run over his damaged skin. He hasn’t felt hot water in a long few weeks, but he’s gotten used to it. He scrubs the dollar store shampoo through his hair and closes his eyes. He never really has time to relax, but showers have always been a good five minutes of his day to do so. After his watch timer goes off Patton shuts off the water and wraps his towel around his body, and then grabs his stuff. He exits the showers and gets changed. He throws on his old high school t-shirt and heads back to the dorms.

But as he’s walking down the hallway, he finds himself drawn to the rent listening board. He knows rechecking it is pointless, but he can’t himself. He would love to find himself a place, but everything is just so expensive. Politicians seem to think minimum wage and a living wage are the same things. Patton can say with certainty that they’re not. 

But this listing, the one that says 500 dollars a month, with three roommates doesn’t seem that bad. Patton is so used to sharing space that it would be an upgrade. And it’s not in a terrible neighborhood. More importantly, it’s far far away from here. They won’t be able to find him on the other side of the city. 

Patton digs out his phone from his bag and calls the number on the flyer.

\-----------

Virgil probably should be sleeping right about now. It’s just past 3 am and all the lights on the street are shut off, except for the old lights in the 24-hour diner he’s currently sketching in. The kid working the night shift fell asleep right after making Virgil a chocolate milkshake, so the only noises in the joint are the whirring of the heater in the back and the quiet scribbling of Virgil’s pencil against paper. 

The booth isn’t comfortable, and the cheap metal table rocks every other second. Virgil knows his desk back home is a much better workspace. He can’t get much worse than this, but he doesn’t want to go home. Back in his tiny apartment, the walls are getting smaller and smaller and Virgil can’t breathe when he tries to sleep. He didn’t see the point of staying in his apartment, and he lived in a city, there was always something open at 3 am, even if it was just a 24-hour diner with two stars on yelp. 

Virgil took another sip of his milkshake. Considering how low his expectations were, it wasn’t bad. There was something about winter that made milkshakes so much better. Or maybe he was just a gay mess. Probably both. 

His pencil slipped and then suddenly the eye he was working on had a line straight through it. Virgil resisted the urge to slam his head against the table. This was why people didn’t draw at 3 am. The commission wasn’t even supposed to be ready for another week. Everyone was asleep right now. Even the high schooler behind the counter was passed out. 

Virgil just couldn't sleep. He didn’t want to go home, he didn’t want to be here; he didn’t want to see his mom. He fiddled with the strings of his oversize hoodie and fiddled with his straw. Suddenly he felt tired. His hoodie was warm and cozy, and the diner was so open and quiet. His eyelids fluttered closed, but before he could drift off, his phone started ringing. 

Virgil jerked awake and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He would’ve declined the call, but it was his mom, and Virgil never had the heart to ignore her. He swiped his phone open and brought it to his ear. 

“Hi sweetheart,” His mom said. Her voice still had that usual warmness to it, but it also had an edge of fear. Virgil sat up straighter. 

“Hi mom,” Virgil said, “Is everything ok?” 

“Wow getting right to it aren’t we?” She said with a laugh, and Virgil smiled a little.

“you know me, my filter goes away after 8:30” 

“Yeah I know,” His mom said, and he could hear tapping on the other side of the line, “Look I know it’s stupid but I just, I need to know, are you safe?” 

Oh. It was one of those nights.

“Yeah, mom I’m safe. I’m working on commissions at the 24-hour diner across from my apartment. There’s no one except a sleeping high schooler here. I have a knife in my pocket and a taser in my bag like always. I’m ok,” Virgil rattled off, knowing the extra facts helped his mom when she couldn’t stop checking the locks. 

“I know that,” she grumbled, “I know that, I know you’re safe, I know I’m safe it’s just…” 

“Hard to remember?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I get it,” Virgil said, tapping his fingers nervously against his glass, “Sometimes I just can’t be in my apartment without feeling like I’m never going to be able to leave.” 

His mom hummed sympathetically, “So that’s why you’re sitting in a shitty diner booth at 3 am stormcloud” 

Virgil was planning on shutting up for the rest of the call, but the exhaustion and the nickname wore him down, “yeah. It...it feels like the closet,” 

“Have you thought about moving?” 

Virgil snorted, “Yeah, I have the money, but no one would approve me for an apartment,” 

“Sons of bitches,” his mom muttered,” Look if they don’t drop their superstitious bullshit, you won’t be the only one with scars on your wrists.” 

“Mom!” 

“I’m kidding! kidding...unless?” 

“You cannot just maim most of the city’s landlords mom!” 

“Says who?”

“Oh my god,” Virgil said, trying to hold in his laughter.

“What about getting some roommates?” His mom suggested after she finished giggling. 

“You do realize who you’re talking to right?” Virgil deadpanned. 

“I know, but don’t you think it would help? Having more rooms and less silence,” 

“Wow...that uh might help actually,” Virgil said, surprised. 

“I know you stormcloud,” His mom said, “Thanks for talking to me, It helped, I’m gonna try and sleep now okay?” 

“Ok,” Virgil said. 

“I love you,” 

“Love you too mom,” Virgil said, and then the line went dead.

Virgil grabbed his phone and sketchbook, left a ten-dollar bill on the counter, and left the diner. He walked across the street, not bothering to check the cross light, and walked the seven flights up the stairs, even though the elevator was right there. When he got back in his apartment, he spent the entire night looking at listings.

\-------------------------

There was no point in sugarcoating it. Logan couldn’t pay rent anymore. 

He sat on the park bench and tried not to let the panic become all-consuming. They were having a normal Saturday in the winter. Playing games on the playgrounds and drinking hot cocoa. The children marveled at the way the tiny snowflakes danced to the ground. They were probably fantasizing about snow days and sleeping in. 

Logan was thinking about how the scars on his wrist denied him government benefits. The world was unfair, that was a lesson he had learned years ago, but it really pissed him off sometimes. He pulled his sleeves down a little further and hated every second of it. 

The woman sitting on the bench across from him was getting stopped every three seconds to receive compliments on the soul mark visible on her left eye. It was bright purple and it reached from the edge of her left eyebrow to the tip of her left nostril. When a person with a light trenchcoat sat down next to her, the mark lit up and swirled, and she researched over to kiss the newcomer on the cheek. They laughed together and Logan wanted to scream

Logan knew it was irrational to hate soulmates. It wasn’t their fault they had marks, just like it wasn’t his fault he had scars. But it was so hard when none of them acknowledged their privilege and treated him like a child.

He took another sip of his water bottle and tried to recompose himself. There had to be another solution he just wasn’t seeing. But he couldn’t see straight right now and he hated it. Feelings were the bane of his existence. It was 5 pm, which meant the sun was about to set. When the sun set, the stars came out, and Logan didn’t want to see a single one. Especially not today. 

He picks up his water bottle and stands up, leaving the two soulmates across from him to their date before he says something that might land him in jail. 

He slides his headphones on, puts on AC/DC, and turns the volume up a little too high. Logan makes sure not to step on the tiny cracks that litter the sidewalk as he moves. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, but he ignores that. He’s already been illogical today, what’s a little more? 

Logan walks and he walks and he walks and he never looks up. It’s getting darker and darker and he has no clue where he is. He wants to go back to his apartment but he knows that his landlord will ask for the cash and when he doesn’t have any to give it will be too embarrassing. He might even have to quit his job and he doesn’t want to do that. He likes his job, he likes working with cars. He’s always understood cars more than he understands people. Cars can’t see the Xs on his wrists. 

Snowflakes gather on his bangs and a few fall onto his nose. Logan waves his hand through the air, catching a few snowflakes as he does it. They’re cold against his fingers. Logan breathes out and watches the cold air slowly disappear into the night sky. It took him 40 entire minutes to realize because of the snowstorm he wouldn’t be able to see the stars, and it’s nice to be able to look at the sky without them. Even if everything falls apart tomorrow it’s nice to have this one quiet night in the snow. 

Things were good once, they can be good again. Logan knows that. He also knows that his good is most people’s bad. 

He finally takes a second to look at where he is. Despite the snow, he is 97% sure that the sign by the corner he’s standing at reads 67th street. Luckily his apartment is only a few blocks away. 

Logan starts walking and smiles a little bit at the way the snow crunches under his feet. He twirls his keys around his fingers and lets the strumming of an electric guitar drown out his thoughts. 

After a few minutes of walking past buildings, Logan finally spots the one that belongs to him. He twists the key into the lock of his door after leaving his boots outside. His apartment is tiny, and Logan likes it that way. It’s like his own tiny cave where no one can get in. There are blankets everywhere and tools on just about every surface. He’s more attached to this place than he’s willing to admit. It’s the first place he’s been able to call home. 

Logan never gets to keep that feeling. Not as a kid, and not as an adult. 

A tear slips free and Logan wipes it away as soon as it falls. He doesn’t have time for this, he needs to make a plan. He doesn’t brush his teeth or change clothes before bed like he usually does. He just collapses into his mattress and tries to think. He grabs onto one of his stuffed animals and runs his hands through its soft faux fur. 

The perfect plan hits him right before he’s about to doze off. He should get roommates. It’s so simple, so obvious, of course, he missed it. 

He doesn’t sleep a wink that night until he finds it. The perfect place. He stumbles across it at 4:58 am. It’s 500 dollars a month, in a nice neighborhood, and best of all, it’s only a few blocks away from the workshop. There are four other roommates, and the next morning when Logan walks to work he wonders what they’re like. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. and now they're roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The four of them move into the apartment and meet for the first time---and they get off to a rocky start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh sorry for the late update! Life got in the way and it's been almost three weeks I'm sorry. Chapter 3 is almost done so I'm gonna try to do better, but school is starting so no promises. Thanks for sticking around :)

His hand scrawled out his signature on the sign-out sheet, and then that was it. Someone else was going to be taking bunk 5b and no one would ever know he was ever there. Patton set the pen down on the foldable table and then he walked out the shelter doors for the last time.

Patton expected this moment to be the best one of his life. He thought music would start playing and confetti would fall from the sky. He would start crying out of joy and everything would finally be perfect. But as he walked down the familiar streets past the deli he bought expired sandwiches at, Patton didn’t feel victorious, he just felt numb. He was still such a coward.

Because when he thought about it, he was still just as alone, whether he was sleeping in a shelter or a new apartment. 

It would be nice to take a hot shower though. Especially since the scalding hot water almost felt like someone wrapping warm arms around him.

Patton pulled out his phone and checked the time, 7:30 am. He would be the first one in his new place. Patton couldn’t wrap his head around being in a space that big all by himself, even if it was only for a few hours. 

But his roommates couldn’t know that. As far as they would be concerned, Patton was just switching apartments. He had no clue what they would do to him if they found out if he was homeless, let alone if they found out he didn’t have a soulmate. It was like Mark always said, the only thing worse than someone with soulless scars, was a homeless person was soulless. 

Patton shook his head as the bus pulled into the stop. Mark said a lot of things, but Mark wasn’t here right now. Patton was moving across the city without telling anyone, he was never going to see mark again, he was safe. He moved to the back bus and sat in the corner. He leaned against the armrest and relaxed a little bit. From here I could see everything, no one could sneak up on him. 

The bus started moving and Patton tried to relax. It was early, so there weren’t that many people on the bus. Most people were just heading to work, and the seats around Patton were fairly empty.

He stayed on the bus for about 40 minutes, watching people get on and off. He knew the train was faster, but Patton liked the bus. It was always quieter, and it was perfect for people watching. It never got boring. From interesting toddlers climbing the bus like a jungle gym to old people barely keeping their eyes open. Patton wondered what their lives were like beyond their appearances. He wondered if there were any people like him on the bus. 

“Now arriving at 78th street,” The automated voice announced, and grabbed his backpack and suitcase, pushing the backdoors open and hopping onto the sidewalk. 

He looked around. There was a small supermarket right in front of him, and two women were talking animatedly outside of it. To his right, there was a small bakery, with a pastel sign and a dirty chalkboard outside it advertising double chocolate chip cookies. Finally, to his left was building number 782. His new home. 

Patton took a deep breath and then marched up the six steps to the front door. After a few seconds, he pulled out the key the landlord left for him. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it.

The hallway inside the building was empty. Some of the paint was peeling off the wall and the tiles on the floor had cracks in them. The wheels of his suitcase banged against the cracks as Patton dragged it down the hall, and the sound echoed through the hallway. He pressed the button on the elevator three times until it lit up. 

After a minute the elevator arrived and Patton pulled his suitcase in. He checked his phone again and then clicked on the third floor. The elevator doors creakily shut in front of him and the elevator started moving up.

_ Ding _

The doors opened, and Patton pulled his suitcase out of the elevator and into another hallway. He rechecks his phone out of nervousness just to make sure he’ll find the right apartment. He was looking for apartment thirty-one. After a few minutes of wandering around the empty hallway, Patton spotted the lopsided number 31 on one of the doors. 

This was his new home. It was real, all those nights Patton spent not sleeping, wishing for this, and now he was here, one door away from it. 

Patton twisted the key and pushed the door open. 

He walked into the apartment, letting himself take it all in. He left his bags by the door and started to explore the apartment. It was about 9, so he was the only one in the place. 

The kitchen was pretty small but there was a stove and oven and cabinets, and most importantly it was a kitchen. Sure, he didn’t technically know how to cook, but he could if he wanted to, because he had a kitchen. Patton could barely contain his excitement. 

He took off his shoes and slid down the narrow hallways like he did when he was five years old. 

“Whoooooo,” He shouted, right before almost crashing into another door. He stumbled and hit the ground laughing. Patton had never been alone for this long. No one was looking at him and that felt amazing. It didn’t matter that he was going to need a band-aid for his knee.

He looked up at the ceiling and wished he could build a time machine and go back to the moment when he first got evicted and tell himself that it wouldn’t last forever. He wouldn’t spend the rest of his life bleeding out in an alleyway. 

He was still alone, but being alone in an apartment was so much better than being alone on the streets. Patton was just going to take the win.

According to the landlord, rooms were first come first serve, so Patton decided to take the smallest one. Choosing the smallest one seemed like the safest option. Patton rolled his suitcase down the hallway and slung his backpack over his shoulder. 

He walked into his new room and marveled at the privacy. No one could see him in here he could just...close the door. He didn’t have to worry about people watching him, he could even buy a lock if he wanted to. Sure, there was a tiny leak in the corner and the paint job was pretty bad, but Patton loved his new room. 

_ Bang.  _

In the distance, a door swung open, and Patton could hear someone cursing. It must be one of his roommates. Patton pulled down his sleeves and went to go see what was happening. 

By the door stood a tall man wearing jeans and a T-shirt that had a picture of a dragon curled around a pile of books on it. He was pushing the door open with his back and he was wearing a backpack and holding two boxes in his arms. His hair was dyed red at the tips and he was wearing platform combat boots. 

“Need some help?” Patton asked nervously, and the man looked up. 

“Oh yeah that would be great,” the man said. 

Patton grabbed the door open for him, and the man flashed him a grateful smile as he came inside, setting his poses down. 

“Thanks,” he said, “I’m Roman, by the way,” 

“Cool,” Patton says nervously, tapping his fingers against the wall nervously. It’s been a while since he’s been in this kind of social situation. 

Roman fiddled with his bracelets, waiting for something Patton didn’t know what. 

Finally, he said, “This is the part where you tell me your name,” 

“Oh! Sorry!” Patton said, “My name’s Patton,” 

“Nice to meet you. So are we the only ones here?” 

“Yeah I know two more people are coming but they aren’t here yet,” Patton said. 

Roman started walking around the apartment, spinning around to take it all in, “Okay cool. I haven’t had roommates since...I haven’t had roommates in a while, this is new.” 

“Yeah, it’s weird,” Patton said, even if he was adjusting to more space while Roman was adjusting to less. He tried to stop the nervous fidgeting, Roma couldn’t know he was afraid. Fake it til you make it, and don’t piss anyone off.

“So, what do you do?” Roman asked, and Patton realized this was small talk.

“I work as a barista at Starbucks,” Patton said. Part of him hoped Roman wasn’t working something super fancy, “What about you,” 

Roman’s eyes lit up, “I work at a bookstore! I’ve been doing to for about four years, it’s great. Plus I get 50% off on books which helps my collection.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome! I haven’t had time to read in a while, but I’ve been busy,” Patton blurted out. Would Roman be mad at him? He braced himself for the blows, but none came

“Oh yeah I get that, I’ve been losing sleep, but probably going to have to cut back because I get a little...excited when I’m reading and I don’t live alone anymore.” 

“Did you’re siblings mind when you were growing up?” Patton said lightheartedly. 

Roman’s relaxed posture was gone in an instant, suddenly he was closed off and looked like he was ready to run, “I don’t have a brother” he snapped before going to unpack, and Patton was left wondering what he did wrong. 

————-

Logan pulled his truck up to building 782. It certainly wasn’t as nice as his old apartment, but he supposed that was to be expected. 

He twisted the ring on his ring finger and cringed. He wasn’t supposed to do that anymore, find comfort in a dead relationship. Any logical person would find the nearest body of water and throw the ring in. But as he was learning, Logan wasn’t a logical person, not really. It was his biggest flaw, this sentimentality to one of the best and worst times of his life. 

_ Till Death do us Part _

He turned the truck off and checked the time, 4:41 pm. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up so late. It wasn’t logical, getting to his new apartment earlier would allow him to have a better read of the territory. He’d be able to make an impression on his roommates and have a greater say in rules and which room he’d be claiming. Now he was going in, probably as the last person. All because he couldn’t handle leaving his old apartment. He allowed himself a week to pack yet most of it happened this morning and afternoon. 

He hated pity parties, he knew he couldn’t control the world, but God did he hate the Xs on his wrists sometimes. Who knows where he’d be without them. The people will soul marks always thought people like Logan must feel so sad about not having a soulmate, but all Logan really wanted was not to be discriminated against.

Was that too much to ask? According to the moron running country, yes, yes it was. 

Logan pushed the door open and climbed out, deciding to lock the truck and go check out the apartment. It would be much easier to move his stuff if he knew where he was putting it, he didn’t want to upset his roommates on day one. Two similar moving trucks were parked near him and Logan assumed they must belong to his other roommates. 

He walked up to the front door and twisted his key in. He walked through the dilapidated hallway to the elevator. He took the elevator up to the third floor and walked out. He turned the key to his new home and walked in. 

This was it, his new place. He wasn’t in his old studio anymore. When he entered the apartment, the place was pretty quiet, which was odd since it was very probable that his three other roommates were already there. 

When he got to the kitchen, three people were standing there. One man with a graphic t-shirt and jeans, with bright red tips. He was leaning against the counter, and he looked like he had just been attacked. 

“Hey! You must be our fourth roommate!” Another man, with curly brown hair and a simple white shirt and jeans, was clicking his fingers nervously and kept glancing and the one with red tips. Logan wondered if their actions were a result of cause and effect. 

“I’m Virgil,” The third man said. He had an oversized hoodie and ripped black skinny jeans. He was wearing an MCR shirt. Logan wanted to ask him what he, an Emo rock fan, thought about classic rock. Logan wasn’t going to do that though, he knew talking about his music taste was one of the most annoying things about him. 

“My name is Logan,” 

“Cool,” Virgil said, “I like your shoelaces” 

“Thanks,” The red-haired one said before Logan could respond, “I stole them from the president.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” Logan said. 

“Yeah Roman, Tumblr is so early 2000s,” Virgil deadpanned, and Roman’s jaw dropped. 

“Look in a Mirror Hot Topic, and then tell me that again,” 

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” The curly-haired one said. 

“Me too,” Logan agreed. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil said, “I do actually like your shoelaces.” 

Logan looked down at his black docs. Today they were yellow laces, latter laced, Logan usually switched between black, yellow, and purple. 

“You know lace code?” Logan asked, surprised. 

Virgil nodded, “I’m not punk, but it comes with the territory,” 

“What territory?” The curly-haired one said. 

Virgil shrugged his shoulders, “My mom’s punk and we’re Jewish so she thought it was pretty important that I learned what red laces were.” 

“What do the colors mean?” The curly one asked. 

“It varies from region to region but generally in the US white signifies a white supremacist, red signifies a nazi, yellow is anti-racist, blue means killed a cop, purple signifies a member of the LGBTQ community, black is natural, and silver is soulless,” 

Somewhere buried deep in his backpack, there was a pack of unopened silver laces. Logan wasn’t sure if he’d ever been bold enough to wear them, but he liked the idea that one day he might. The official website didn’t even silver sell laces, he had to track down a pair on eBay. The only thing listed in the description of the laces was the word resist. When they came in the mail, attached was a post-it spray-painted with a stencil of a silver fist. 

“Cool,” Roman said. 

“Yeah,” The one with the curly hair said, and Logan realized he didn’t know his name. 

“Sorry, what’s your name?” Logan asked, turning to him. 

“Oh! Sorry, my name is Patton.” 

Logan nodded. 

“Alright, well now that we’ve all made our introductions, I’m going to go unpack,” Roman said. 

“What some help?” Patton asked hopefully. 

“No,” Roman said coldly, walking away. 

Logan shared a concerned look with Virgil. He wondered what would’ve caused Roman to be this angry at Patton in such a short period of time. 

“Alright cool,” Patton said, faking a smile, “I’m going to my room and unpack my stuff.” 

After Patton walked away, Logan turned to Virgil, “Do you know what’s going on with them?” 

Virgil just shrugged, “No idea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funny how Remus is one of the most important people in this chapter yet his name isn't even mentioned.
> 
> comments give me life I love getting them!!
> 
> come scream at me on tumblr @thefingergunsgirl


	3. local lone wolf considers joining the cult of friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil gets to know his roommates better
> 
> Surprisingly enough, he doesn't regret moving/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: allusions to past trauma and abuse
> 
> minor spoilers for aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe(also possible misinformation it's been a while since I've read it)

Virgil’s first night in his new apartment is weird, to say the least. He managed to get his mattress into his room, but other than that he was literally boxed in. Instead of unpacking, he was sitting on his mattress listening to Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, his mom’s favorite band. When he listens to that band, things seem so much simpler. Times when he watched his mom dance and twirl as she made breakfast. Sometimes she would belt into a spoon. That was before Madeleine changed. Virgil wonders if his mom ever started singing again. 

He switched his playlist before he could go down the unlit part of memory lane. His new room made him both more and less claustrophobic at the same time. One one hand, being surrounded by lots of boxes, with a smaller window was making his skin crawl. But on the other hand, this apartment was bigger than his last, and Virgil knew this wasn’t the closet because this apartment was full of signs of life. Even at 11 pm through his cracked door, Virgil could see light bleeding through. If he took off his headphones he could hear his new roommates moving around.

Virgil started at his door and watched as the lights got dimmer until only one person in the apartment had theirs on. As he drifted off to sleep he wondered who it was.

The rest of the week was a whirlwind of boxes and iced coffee. Unpacking was a lot easier when he had his mom helping him but he managed. It takes him a lot longer, and a lot more cursing, but for the most part, he succeeds. 

The only problem was that Virgil was absolute shit at following Ikea instructions. Yesterday it took him six hours to get his bed frame set up. The useless instruction manual said it would only take two, but he guessed he was just built differently. Pun not intended. Virgil just hated building things, he always screwed stuff in the wrong holes and had to go back from step 42 to step 9. Honestly, if he didn’t get the one dollar slushie with his dumb furniture, what was the point? 

Virgil had procrastinated putting his desk together for most of the week. He had no clue how to do, the instruction book scared him more than assigned reading books at school. But he had commissions that needed work, and he really couldn’t do his best work from his bed, despite how comfy it was. Virgil could not afford any bad reviews, it’s not like he had a second job in his back pocket. 

Plus, he loved his job. The messages he got after the finished pieces made his day, even if they rubbed in the fact that he didn’t have a soulmark. Madeleine said he’d never make it, that drawing was a dumb stupid waste of time. She told him that soulless people didn’t have jobs. He didn’t know what the hell she was doing right now, but Virgil had a steady income, a job he loved, and some extra money in the bank. He came out on top. 

So why didn’t he feel like it? 

Virgil groaned, just like him to have an existential crisis the second he sat down and tried to build this desk. He was a master procrastinator. He swore these words weren’t even in English. The pieces of the desk were scattered all over his room and Virgil had been at it the entire day. He had gone through six granola bars and listened to death metal so his roommates wouldn’t hear his frustration. 

But when yet another thing fell apart, Virgil couldn’t help the loud, “fuck!” from leaving his mouth. He banged his head against the wall. 

Just his luck, five minutes later came a hesitant knock on his door. Virgil took off his headphones and pulled himself up from the floor. He avoided the parts on the floor like he was playing floor on lava and opened the door. 

Logan was standing there, twisting the ring on his finger, wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He looked nervous, which of course made Virgil nervous. 

“Hi Logan,” Virgil said. 

So far, out of all his roommates, Logan was his favorite. He was quiet but smart, literal yet funny, he drank his coffee black just like Virgil did. Virgil didn’t know how to act around Roman, who already had some kind of history with Patton and sang loudly in the shower. Being around Roman was like starting in the middle of the Marvel movies instead of starting with Iron Man. Virgil didn’t know what was going on but it was moving fast. Patton made his skin crawl, and he put Virgil in a position he never thought he’d be in. Patton tried to hide his flinches when Virgil got close, but Virgil knew what it looked like. He’d seen it in the mirror too many times. Patton seemed willing to do anything so long as Virgil didn’t hurt him, and that was another thing that kept him up at night. 

But with Logan everything was easy. He was probably the closest thing Virgil had to a friend, and Virgil didn’t have friends. When Virgil was coming out of his art all-nighters he’d say good morning to Logan as he left for work. Neither of them talked about their personal lives, and that was nice. 

“Hello Virgil,” Logan said, “I was wondering if you needed some assistance?” 

“With what?” 

Logan made a vague gesture to Virgil’s mess of IKEA parts. 

“Oh. That,” Virgil said, glaring at the pile of wood and screws.

When he turned back around he swore Logan was laughing a little. 

“I mean, sure if you really want to,” Virgil said. 

Logan smiled, “Awesome,” 

“Are you actually excited about building this?” 

Logan stared at him as if he was crazy, “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“It’s IKEA.” 

“Exactly,” Logan said, reaching over to grab a screwdriver and digging Virgil’s Manuel out from his mattress. 

“Thanks, L,” Virgil said, “I’ll grab you lunch sometime,” 

Logan paused at the nickname and looked up, “You don’t have to do that” 

“Yeah I know,” Virgil said, “But I want to,” 

“Thank you,” Logan said as if Virgil buying him lunch was a big deal. 

After a few seconds, he said, “Mind if I play some music?” 

“Sure,” Virgil said, tossing Logan his speaker. 

Five minutes later AC/DC was playing through the room. 

“Y’know,” Virgil said, “I love Led Zeppelin,” 

The withering glare Logan gave him made him laugh so hard his ribs hurt.

——————

Virgil almost woke up screaming. Self-silencing was a reflex at this point, his hand was slammed over his mouth before he even knew what was going on. Tears blurred his vision and his heart was pounding faster than the drums of the AC/DC he listened to yesterday. 

_Fuck_

Why did this have to happen now? In a place where at any second one of his roommates could walk in and bring all his walls shattering down. He wasn’t safe here he could feel her hands- 

No, he wasn’t going to let her hurt him when she wasn’t even here dammit! More tears leaked out his eyes in frustration. Virgil didn’t get it, years and years later he was still breaking when the sun went down and she wasn’t even here she wasn’t here she wasn't HERE-

But what if she was at his mom’s house and Virgil wasn’t there to protect her and then the police department would be calling him asking him to identify a body because she could never let them be happy and- 

Virgil knew he was safe, he knew that he knew he was miles and miles away and too big and angry for anyone to manhandle him. But knowing things and feeling things were so similar yet so different and Virgil wasn’t feeling anything more than that difference right about now. Virgil knew a lot of things, he remembered a lot but sometimes...sometimes he didn’t think he felt anything other than fear and rage, and was there anything more terrifying than that? That one day he would grow up and become just like her.

  
  


Virgil shook his head. He couldn’t be like this, he would just drive himself even more crazy. He was safe, she was miles away, and Logan would be waking up in…

Virgil checked his phone, it was 2 am, Logan woke up at 6 am, which meant he had four hours to pull himself together. Four hours to shove the demons back under the bed. 

Virgil scrunched the sheets of his bed in his shaky hands. He had to get out of this room, it was too tight and small and dark. Virgil swore he could smell artificial peppermint and the blood pounded faster. Damn, not only was he seeing things, but he was also smelling things. He started at the door, would it even open if he pulled the knob? Or was he locked in at her mercy? 

Virgil shook his head and slid on a hoodie and flannel pants. He grabbed his phone and slid out from under the covers. He turned on the flashlight to his phone and navigated to his desk, grabbing his pencil and his sketchbook. It took him three tries to get his hand still enough to open the door, but he did it.

He made his way down the hallway into their tiny living room. There wasn’t much there except for a wobbly coffee table and a few garage sale beanbags they had found. Virgil let himself sink into the formless things and exhaled.

He props his phone up as a light and flips to a new page on his sketchbook but when he goes to draw the lines come out shaky and broken and Virgil resists the urge to break the pencil. 

He looks up from the sketchbook when he realizes there’s something else on the table. A book. Virgil moved his flashlight to look at the cover. 

_Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe._

There was a red pickup truck on the cover. Interested, Virgil flipped the book cover to the first page to see the name “Roman Williams,” and then below that, 

_Notice: This book contains anti-soulmate rhetoric and is not suitable for children. We recommend that you shred it or turn it in to your local library. If you do decide to continue reading, be aware that this is propaganda created by the soulless._

Well if he wasn’t interested before, now Virgil had to read it. Anything that was “soulless” propaganda was definitely required reading. He hadn’t read anything since 4th grade. The books just got so boring, soulmates soulmates soulmates. Soulmates meeting up. Soulmates doing conflict resolution. Soulmates going on adventures. He wouldn’t be surprised if the publishers put soulmates eating sandwiches on the bestseller list. 

Everyone said the soulless pushed their beliefs down people’s throat but how could Virgil do that when he was too busy choking on soulmark bullshit? 

He flipped the book open, intending to just get through a couple of pages. 

But instead, Virgil found himself in that beanbag for three hours, not taking his eyes off the page. That was the magic about books that he forgot about. He was in his shitty apartment in the city but he felt like he was in 1980s Texas. 

There was something about this book that made Virgil feel awake for the first time. Like he was coming out of the haze. He had never read this before, never read a story about love where soulmates weren’t part of the equation. He’s never seen anything published beyond terrible internet fiction written by people who didn’t understand 3rd-grade grammar. 

But this? This was real. This book was published and real, and Virgil didn’t think he was going to forget it for a long time. 

_“Words were different when they lived inside of you.”_

His mom had mentioned book hangover to him, and at the time Virgil thought it was ridiculous. Since when could books make you feel that strongly? 

Sitting in a beanbag with his phone lit up as the sun started to crawl out from below the buildings, Virgil got it. He sat there processing in the way that only a good book could make you do. Ari and Dante felt like two new people he would see when he looked at the stars. People like his mom who made him want to keep going just one more step when he felt like falling. 

The overwhelming fear was replaced with the overwhelming need to create. This book deserved something great. Virgil shoved himself out of the beanbag and grabbed his sketchbook and Roman’s beat-up copy of the book and headed back to his room. 

He slid into his desk chair and powered on his tablet, opening up a new file in photoshop. He knew exactly what he wanted to recreate, the scene where the two of them were in the back of Ari’s truck, in the middle of the desert, stargazing.

He flipped through the tattered book to reread the parts he was looking for and then he grabbed his headphones. He shuffled his music and picked up his stylus. 

Virgil spent all day working. He heard the three of them leave for work. He went through more than a healthy amount of coffee and his back was killing him. But he couldn’t stop working. He rarely got this motivated, and he knew this kind of motivation didn’t last long. 

Around seven pm, Virgil was finishing up some of the final touches on the shading when he got a knock on his door. He paused his music and walked to the door. 

Roman was standing there. 

“Hey, Virgil have you seen a book called Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of The Universe floating around? I left it on the coffee table in the living room.” 

_Shit._ How stupid was he to just forget that he just took from the living room wasn’t his and he stole it from his Roommate? Roman was going to be mad at him and they were only a week into this whole roommate thing and now he was fucking it up like he always did. Just a day in the life _._

“Uh yeah,” Virgil said nervously, “About that…” 

He grabbed the book from his desk and offered it to Roman. Roman’s reaction was impassive at face value, but Virgil didn’t survive this long without getting good at reading people. He could see the ugly mix of fear, anger, and hope that Roman slid behind a mask. It was a good mask, one of the best Virgil has seen. 

“Oh,” Roman said, taking the book and subtly running his fingers over the title, “Thanks.” 

Virgil nodded. He froze and waited to see what Roman was going to do. The man just stood there for a while as if wondering what to do next, Virgil couldn’t blame him. He wanted to find some way to make it up to Roman but he couldn’t think of anything. He laid his hand down on his tablet-

_Oh._ God he needed to turn on his brain cell, he could just make Roman a print of the piece he stole the book for. Roman moved to grab the doorknob and walk out but before he could Virgil blurted out, 

“Hey so I drew a scene from the book, I could make you a print if you wanted?” 

Roman’s brown eyes sparkled with a little bit of interest, “What scene?”

“The one where they go stargazing.” 

“Oh really?” Roman said, not bothering to hide his excitement, “That’s one of my favorites or the part with the bird and the hospital and the end, it’s such a good book.”

“Yeah!” Virgil said, “I’ve never read anything like that. I didn’t know they...wrote books about people without soulmarks.” 

“So where’s the art?” Roman said, and it didn’t slip Virgil’s notice that Roman avoided the soulless comment. 

He desperately wanted to ask, _are you like me?_ But that was crazy. What were the chances of the two of them being in the same apartment? If he wanted to stay on Roman’s good side he knew he couldn’t push it.

He grabbed his tablet and handed it over to Roman, nervously spinning in his chair as he waited for Roman’s reaction. 

“Holy shit dude,” Roman said, “This is incredible,” 

A warm fuzzy feeling spread across his chest. He made art for himself but people telling him they loved his work was why he kept going when he wanted to break his pencil. It always felt good to hear it but when Roman said it, it felt even better than normal. Virgil grew up without friends. He could never relate to the kids on the playground who sat in a circle eating apple slices as they theorized about if their soulmates would like red or blue. Getting attached to people felt like a risk that wasn’t worth it. He had his mom and his work and that was all he needed. But there’s something else alongside that fuzzy feeling and it feels like wanting. He wants Roman to like him, and for the second time this week, he wants someone to be his friend. It’s been 24 years since that’s happened.

“Thanks,” Virgil says. After a few more minutes of gushing about the book, Roman looks apologetic when he tells Virgil he has to go to work. Virgil tells him it’s fine and Roman gives Virgil an adorable small smile just before he goes. 

_Maybe roommates aren’t so bad after all,_ Virgil thinks, and he can already hear his mom’s teasing “I told you so.”

\-----

It was 7 am on a Saturday and Virgil had to be up for a dumb client meeting he didn’t want to get up for. His bed was way too comfy and the light was too bright. Capitalism was dumb so could revolution twitter loved to go on about just happen already so he could sleep in a few more minutes? 

The art teachers who always told him to follow his dreams conveniently forgot to mention the fact that as a freelance artist he would be spending a good amount of time working on marketing on budgeting. Virgil always hated math. And people. Talking to people about math made him want to just stab everyone within 50 feet and himself with the nearest pencil. 

His snooze went off for the second time, “Alright alright I get it!” He groaned, moving the covers off him, shivering as they went. 

He threw on a button-up shirt and sweatpants. Stumbled to the bathroom, just managing to get there before Roman could start his super extra hair care routine he loved more than life. He closed the door, splashed water on his face, and tried to at least look awake. He ran a brush through his unruly hair and tried to get it to settle down. He quickly brushed his teeth and put on a little bit of makeup. He was so close to coffee. He zipped up his bathroom bag and rushed out the door to the kitchen.

When he got there Patton was sitting at their creaky kitchen table nursing a glass of water as he scrolled through his phone. Virgil was hoping he could just sneak in, get his iced coffee and go so the two of them wouldn’t have to go through the awkward dance where Patton tried not to flinch and Virgil tried not to be afraid of looking in a mirror again. He was terrified that the person he saw would be Madeline. He was too tired to deal with his trauma, let alone anyone else’s. 

But just like every time he walked by Patton noticed and did that tiny flinch he did every time someone walked into a room. Virgil sighed and tried not to let the trauma hit before 12pm.

“Morning Pat,” Virgil said, trying to give off the vibe that he was not a threat. He moved to the fridge to get his coffee slowly, making sure he wasn’t moving suddenly. He didn’t know why exactly Patton was like this, but he was going to try and make his life a little easier anyway.

Virgil grabbed a glass and poured it to the top with the black liquid. He let himself savor the smell for a second before grabbing the glass and heading to the table. But just before he could sit down, his sock caught on a loose nail and his coffee went flying. Flying right onto Patton

The man flinched back as the cold brown liquid hit him. It dripped off his clothes as he wrung it off. 

“I am so sorry Patton I’ll go grab some napkins,” Virgil said, rushing to the counter as Patton tried to clean himself. 

As he turned around to give Patton the napkins Patton rolled up his soaked sleeves up revealing two dark x’s on his wrists. 

The two of them made eye contact and all Virgil could think was, _Oh we are so fucked now._

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I don't have the next chapter written(school just started and wow this is rough) so I'm gonna try and update next Friday but no promises. It's gonna be a big Patton chapter.
> 
> The art Virgil made for Ari and Dante looked something like this amazing fanart (https://witchcraftmood.tumblr.com/post/175740577657/all-this-time-tribute-illustration-to-one-of-the)
> 
> comments, questions, keyboard smashing, they all make my day so please don't be afraid to do it!
> 
> come scream with me on tumblr @thefingergunsgirl

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for giving this fic a chance! I'm really excited to write it, and I'm gonna try and update at least once a week. 
> 
> Pro tip: Comments fuel updates, and I really appreciate them.
> 
> come scream at me on tumblr @thefingergunsgirl


End file.
